to have and to hold
by humanveil
Summary: Erik's secret? He likes to be held.


Erik has a secret. A very deep, very dark secret that no one knows about. At least, no one but his mother. He doesn't count her, though, not when Edie knows _everything_ about him, even the things he'd tried so hard to hide.

Erik's secret? He likes to be held.

Not always, of course. Just sometimes, when he's in the mood for it, when his body craves it. It's…peaceful. Calming. He likes the secure feeling of being wrapped up in the arms of someone he loves. Loves the way his mind clears, the way his stress dissipates. It's almost like all his life's worries disappear as he sinks into the hold.

Which is good. Perfectly fine, really. He knows it's a normal thing to like, to want. The issue is that other people like it, too. Specifically, Charles.

They've been together for a while now, known each other even longer, and in all that time, Erik has become very aware of something: Charles is a cuddle whore. Probably the definition of one.

Ever since Erik had said he could, Charles had clung to him. When they're together, Charles will snuggle against his side, will burrow into the open embrace Erik offers, with his ear pressed against Erik's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat while Erik plays with his hair.

And it's _good_. More than good, really. He loves it. Loves the solid weight of Charles against him. It's comforting in its own way, and he falls even further in love each time it happens.

It's just that... Lately, he's been more than stressed out. The responsibilities of being an adult hitting full force and leaving him with an empty feeling. It makes him crave another kind of comfort, a kind reminiscent of his childhood, where Edie would cradle him in her arms, whispered words of love leaving her mouth as he was lulled to sleep.

He knows he could get it from Charles. He just doesn't know how to ask.

It's almost like a routine now, a tradition, for Charles to be the little spoon, and Erik isn't entirely sure how to go about breaking it. Which, part of him knows, is completely ridiculous, but that doesn't stop him from stressing about it. He has an illogical fear of being rejected, which is _stupid_ , because Erik has never seen Charles turn down the opportunity for a hug.

Still, the fear stops him from asking.

Which is why it's lucky he doesn't have to.

That night, after they've eaten and put the dishes away, Charles takes him by the hand and moves towards their bedroom. He doesn't say anything, verbally or telepathically, just tugs him along.

"It's a little early for bed, isn't it?" Erik asks, feeling out the metal hands of his watch. "It's barely nine."

Charles hums, noncommittal, and continues his path. He only stops once they're both in the bedroom, his body turning to Erik's, his hands moving to the taller man's shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the fabric that rests there.

"You look tired."

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are," Charles says, sighing quietly. He pauses for a moment, gaze dropping to the floor, before meeting Erik's again. "You could just ask."

Erik swallows, and Charles watches the movement of his throat.

"Ask what?"

"You know what."

Erik exhales through his noise, the noise almost one of amusement, and asks, "How did you know?"

"You're projecting, darling," he tells Erik, lips twitching. "Quite obviously. It was hard not to pick up on it."

"Oh."

"Mm. Why don't we get ready for bed?"

Erik nods, and Charles let's his hands drop. Their nighttime routine is something they've perfected, their movements almost disgustingly domestic, and it only takes a few minutes for the two of them to fall into the bed.

Erik is tentative as he reaches out for Charles, his movements slow and shy. Charles smiles at him, his eyes alight, and pulls him flush against his body. Erik goes willingly, a content sigh escaping his lips as he falls into Charles' hold.

Almost instantly, he buries his face into the crook of Charles' neck, nose and cheek nuzzling against him, and let's his eyes close. Charles holds him tightly, the fingers of one hand threading through sort auburn locks while the other rests against his back, stroking mindless patterns into the exposed skin.

Erik can feel the stress leave his body with every movement Charles' hand makes, can feel his head clear and his heart flutter with love.

He feels _comfortable_ in Charles' arms, more so than he does almost anywhere else. It's nice; _wonderful_. Like he's embracing the personification of home.

It's…exactly what he'd wanted, what he'd needed.

Perhaps he was more exhausted than originally thought, because it's only a few moments until he feels sleep tug at his consciousness. He doesn't fight it, just basks in the pleasant serene feeling that's always there when he's with Charles.

Mere moments before he crosses into unconsciousness, he mumbles the words _love you_ into Charles' chest, lips stretching into a sleepy grin when Charles says it back.


End file.
